


Betrayal at its Finest

by uglypastels



Category: MCU Peter Parker - Fandom, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - Fandom, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Double Crossing, Drugs, F/M, Spying, Unfinished, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26561434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglypastels/pseuds/uglypastels
Summary: The plan? To take down the most notorious mob family from the inside. Sounds easy right? Not if emotions start to play a role in it.
Relationships: Tom Holland / Reader
Kudos: 2





	1. Through the Sangria Hallway

You had no idea how you ended up in this situation, but before you knew it, you were walking down the cold gloomy streets of the outskirts of London with a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. When people passed by, you could feel their eyes on you. As if a huge sign with “DEATH SENTENCE” was floating above you in neon letters. It was as if everyone knew what you had done and what was going to happen to you before you even realized it. 

You could see the gates standing tall at the end of the streets. The dark metal bars surrounding the old building fittingly. The closer you got to the entrance, the taller they seemed to grow. You felt tiny standing underneath them. You could tell that once inside, there was no way of escaping. But you had no choice. You had to go in… and once in, there was no way out. 

The gate was heavy but you managed to push it open. It creaked loudly. You were sure that everyone inside the building could hear. The rusty creaking could be solved easily but considering everything around you, it was probably a strategy. You pushed it as far as you needed it to go to slip through the gap, and quickly pushed it back. When the two sides of the gate met again an echoing clang erupted, making you cringe.

Before you could take another step, the door of the building opened and a man walked out. He was tall, blonde and dressed in a dark suit that probably cost more than your car. You held your breath, scared that he would throw you out, but the man placed a cigarette between his pink lips and let it dangle loosely as he lit it. He put his hands in his pockets and started walking. He passed you without as much as a glance. The smell of nicotine hit your nostrils harshly as he blew out a cloud of smoke. Your eyes kept following him as he walked through the noisy gates and disappeared into the mist that was starting to cover the street. 

You turned back around, took a deep breath, and walked on. Your heart was beating fast. It was fear coated in a layer of excitement. The adrenaline was running through your veins, giving you the boost you needed to walk up to the oak door. 

There was no doorbell. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to knock or just walk in. You chose the latter. If it was the wrong choice, you would find out sooner than later. 

The entry hall was dark. Red wallpaper with gold lining and engraving was decorating the walls. A black carpet clad the floor. When you stepped on it, you couldn’t hear a crack. Right next to the door was a coat rack and an umbrella stand, each accompanied with one respective object on it. An attempt at making this look homely since neither actually looked like they had ever been used or worn. On the other side, next to the door, hung a large mirror in a decorative frame. You glanced at yourself. Your hair was a bit messy from the wind, but for the rest, everything seemed fine. 

You had no idea where to go. He must be somewhere here, but where? Fortunately, you could hear footsteps coming from the staircase that was ascending at the end of the hallway. You walked up to it and saw another man. Like the one you “met” outside at the gate, he was also wearing a particularly expensive suit. You couldn’t tell since he was on the stairs, but he might have been somewhat shorter. His hair was brown and slightly curly. You could see that even with the attempt he had put in it to sleek it back. 

He was talking on the phone. You turned around and started to think loudly as to not listen in on the conversation. Still, you couldn’t help but overhear his last words: “Get it done.” Immediately, gears inside your head started to spin as to what this might be in reference to. 

“Who are you?” The man asked. His voice reminded you of a neat whiskey drink. Smooth. Sophisticated. Hearing it, left a burning feeling behind in you. It made you turn back to him in a second. You looked him up and down while your head was spinning. _Who are you?_ You were the one that was supposed to burn his empire to the ground. To betray him and get his ass to rot in jail. You were going to destroy him and all his little gangster friends. Make him pay for all the bullshit he made you and others go through. 

“I’m y/n,” you said with a smile, “I’m here for the assistant job.” 

There was a moment of silence before he responded. 

“Oh, right,” he looked down at his watch. “You’re early, so that’s good.” You expected him to say something more, but that was it. The only thing he did was walk up the stairs again. 

“Follow me.” He said with a wave of his hand, so you did. The stairs were covered in the same carpeting as the hallway. You looked around the high ceiling staircase while keeping a safe distance between you and the man. At least five steps apart. 

The walls you passed were decorated with large paintings from different eras. Knowing who you were walking behind, you could assume it was indeed a real Picasso… and Rembrandt… and Gauguin… 

You were so captivated by the impressive works of art that you didn’t notice how he stopped walking. You bumped into his back with an “umph”. 

“I am so sorry,” you immediately stepped back and apologised. He glanced back around to look at you. He didn’t seem to look angry, but your heart was still beating rapidly. You had been around people like him plenty of times to know how to act around him. And this was not the way. You kept your head low and your eyes on the ground.

“It’s alright. Are you okay?” His question surprised you. 

“Uhm, yes, Sir. I was just looking at the paintings… your collection is quite impressive.” you pointed back at one of the paintings, which happened to be a- “Oh, is that a Monet?” 

“Manet, actually,” he smiled which you gladly recaptioned. 

“Ah yes, of course,” you nodded, “I always mix them up. Silly me.”

“That is understandable. Try to remember this, Manet uses black. Monet doesn’t.” This was good. He was talking to you, smiling, interacting. You could breathe yourself. Everything was going according to plan. The next step, though, that was what it was all about. It would just have to wait until you were in his office. You knew what you were doing and it was helping that you could tell he was warming up to you but the nerves were still catching up to you. You tried to shake it off, keep your cool. This couldn’t fail. You promised the Boss, so you couldn’t disappoint. 

The man in front of you, was now captured by the strokes of the paint on canvas himself. With a hand in his pocket, he stood there very casually. If you had seen him stand in an art gallery, you would have never expected him to be the notorious and dangerous Tom Holland. You could never even imagine him having killed an unfathomable amount of his enemies. But it was really him. You had to keep reminding yourself that he really was that monster. 

“Anyways, my office.” his attention snapped back to you. “This way.” Instead of walking ahead, he stepped aside and showed you the way. You followed in the direction and walked through the first doorway. The office had plenty of space. There was a desk with a large leather chair on one side and two white wing chairs on the other. You walked in but walked slowly so he could get to his chair quicker. Then you sat down on the spot closest to him. With one of your legs crossing the other, letting your tight skirt rise up. You made no effort in trying to pull it down. You had worked with his type before. You knew everything you needed to know to make this work. 

You sat in front of him, back straight and your shoulders pushed back. You smiled gently, but not eagerly. You looked at him as he straightened the line of pens on the side of his desk. He seemed to get easily distracted. 

“So, tell me, y/n,” he said, still focusing on the pens, “how did you come about to hear of this position?” Only then did he look into your eyes. Directly into your eyes. He blocked his mouth with his hands that he had crossed in front of it so his eyes were the only thing you could look at. Not that you could complain. They were a gorgeous brown. Oh, so warm.

“Well, it is undeniable that Holland Enterprise is the talk of the town,” you breathed out a smile. “I have been looking for an assistant position for a while and when I saw the recruitment advertisement… well, I’d be crazy not to take the opportunity.”

“Do you know what we do here?” he asked in the midst of your answer, most likely sensing how much, to put it easily, bullshit was coming out of it. 

“Not exactly, but it is not my intention or job to know, is it? My job would be to help _you_ , do your job easier. I can tell you like to run a tight ship and I respect that… I want to help with that.” you smiled, looking down at the pens his fingers kept inching back to. “I will do what is asked of me,” you looked back up at him, fluttering your eyelashes. “Anything.” 

“If you think I-” he chuckled, “If you think I run a tight ship, you should meet my father.” This threw you off a little bit. There was never any talk about the father. You had only been told about Tom and his brothers. Yes, the Holland brothers. Of course, you weren’t stupid, you knew about the birds and the bees, you just assumed that there were no parents in the picture of this family portrait. Possibly a tragic accident that scarred the children and lead them to the world of drug dealing and violence. 

Now it made sense. You were filling in the blanks for yourself. It was a family business. Possibly generations old. The Holland family had always been wealthy and full of privileges. They slowly made their way up the food chain until Tom, the eldest of four sons, finally got to join the family business. 

Now they ruled all of the city. Let everybody fear them. 

Well… almost. Because they were never the only ones to be feared. The city has always held many secrets in its dark alleys. There were more gangs, possibly even more dangerous. They just didn’t have the power or money that the Hollands had. And they were growing bigger. It was an endless war that the Hollands kept winning every battle off. Until lately, they had seemed to be unbeatable. That was the illusion… and you were the key to breaking it. 

According to the plan.

It was dangerous. It was stupid. Yes, stupid, for sure. But there was no choice. Everyone had the same idea, their time was up. The Hollands had to go. The only way to get rid of them was definitely from the inside. The natural choice was for you to do it. Not only because of your flirtatious abilities, which of course might have come in as an advantage from time to time, but this was not your first rodeo. 

Speak-Easy, that’s what you’re known as to the Noir Dupeurs. One of your many names. The alias came from your skills in talking your way out of, as well as into, many situations. You had the golden tongue and the mafia group sure liked to use the advantage of it. In any case of trouble, you were the person they called to talk it out. You were usually the handler of the “civil” problems, as they would call them. Member between members. It went on for a while and somehow you ended up doing bigger and more ridiculous “favors” for Chippy. 

Oh, Chippy. You adored him but what an asshole. You had been friends for a long time. Maybe before this whole Noir Dupeurs even started. It was hard to tell. You would do anything for him and he could get anything done for you. Perks of having a nickname like the Boss. 

And like that, you agreed to be a spy for him. You agreed to fool the Hollands. Pretend to be a new assistant, secretary, whatchamacallit. In a way, you signed over your life, because who knew what would happen if anyone found out your true intentions. You could be done for. And in this world, that means ending up in a dark ditch with a bullet hole between your eyes… if you were lucky. 

For now, you were lucky. Lucky to be leaving the mansion alive. You walked through the large gate and down the street. Turned the corner to the right, then another to the left until you got to a car park. There were two cars standing there in total. You knew which one to get into because it was the one you had left an hour ago and fortunately it didn’t drive off just yet. 

“What took you so long?” Chippy asked, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. You rolled your eyes as you stepped inside. “20 minutes you told me!’ 

“I did what you asked me to do. Can’t help it that he’s such a talker. Wanted to know fucking everything about me.” You took off your heels and threw them to the backseat of the car. You really needed to learn to walk in them for longer than a few minutes. 

“Did you fuck him?” Chippy asked bluntly while driving out of his spot. You glanced at him. 

“Why would I? He seems to like me, I won’t be surprised if he calls me before we even reach the house. The deal was that I would only go that far if it’s actually fucking needed.” 

“Don’t lie to me, I know what he looks like. I’d fuck him if I didn’t want to shoot his brains out more.” 

“I know you would, which makes me want it even less.” 

“Ha ha ha,” he fake laughed before turning a sharp corner, making you bump your head on the glass. You responded by punching him in the arm. That was how your friendship with Chippy worked. 

The two of you drove on, through the whole city, every now and then taking unnecessary turns for the sake of not being able to be tracked. Driving through impossibly narrow alleys and bumpy roads that actually lead to nowhere, just to drive back. If anyone asked, you were a couple that had just moved into the city and you were still finding your way through the busy streets. A nice extra touch would be the thick accent you’d put on that was even impossible to understand if you knew what you were saying. It was almost a shame nobody questioned your antics. Such a shame. 

Finally, you got to the outskirts of the city. Chippy parked the car next to a large hazel tree that was covering a house. It was nothing special. It looked like a general family home. Mostly because that was exactly what it was. You were looking for the building behind it. It looked like a home that no one had lived in for the last ten years, at least on the outside. On the inside, it was even worse. No one minded. No one stayed there longer than a few hours at a time. Then it was time to either fuck off home or to some deal that was to be made that day. It cleaned up nicely at night, however. That is when it turned into the Black Canary. _The_ place to be if you want to get completely shitfaced. 

You stepped out of the car and the smell that hit you made your stomach churn. Trying to ignore that, you quickly walked to the door. On it was a black graffiti of a flower, haphazardly applied to not catch anyone’s eye in particular. Only those that knew of the sign could detect it. Just like you. Since you were the one to design it. How could you not recognise the same emblem that accessorizes your skin? 

The door opened for you and you walked in, with Chippy following not far behind. On your bare feet, you made your way to the back office. It was funny how much it resembled the one you had just spent an hour lying your ass off in. Just like in mister Holland’s room, there was a large desk and three chairs pulled up to it. Except, here nothing even gave a clue of being businesslike. At least not the same way that the Hollands tried to deceive. One of the black walls was covered from floor to ceiling with various kinds of guns. All empty, of course, but menacing nonetheless. 

You barely noticed them. To you, they were no different from grandma’s old tchotchkes. 

You strutted to the chair behind the desk, fell down into it and put your legs up on the desk. Chippy had stopped in the doorway and was looking at you, unimpressed. 

“He still hasn’t called.” 

You were about to open your mouth to comment on how he would any moment now when your phone started to ring. You pulled it out of your jacket pocket. There was no caller ID, but you didn’t question it. There was only one person that could be calling you on this phone. 

Before answering it, you sat up straight and signed to Chippy to close the door of the office. The person you would speak to in a second did not need to hear the music and the voices of a dozen drunks screaming at each other. As soon as that door closed, besides the buzzing of your phone, it was dead silent.

You took a deep breath and answered. 

“With y/n” 

“Good morning, Miss… l/n?” it sounded as though he had to check if he had the correct name. 

“That’s me,” you said with a fake smile plastered over your face. You knew he couldn’t possibly see it, but the expression helped with selling the rest. 

“Hello, with Holland here, I hope you remember me, ” he pulled away from his phone to clear his throat. You took this moment to put in your little addition to the conversation. 

“Oh, Mr. Holland. Of course, how could I forget, we spoke no less than 20 minutes ago,” you giggled. You spoke to Holland, but actually it was all going to Chippy. You loved to show off to him. This is exactly how. You continued to speak on the phone. “I didn’t expect to be hearing from you this soon.” Chippy looked impressed and somehow annoyed at the same time. You loved it.

“Yes, well, I did enjoy our conversation rather much and I do think you would be a perfect candidate for the job. I was wondering if we could make the next appointment, for sometime next week. I would like to discuss your new contract.” 

“Oh, new contract?” you asked, still looking at Chippy with a big smile. He just rolled his eyes. “That would be splendid.” 

There were some sounds coming from Tom’s side indicating she was looking through something, “how does the… thirtieth sound?” 

“That sounds fantastic. Thank you so much.” at this point you weren’t really listening anymore. You were too amused by how annoyed Chippy got from your smugness. He was trying so hard to hide it but he was never that good of an actor.

“Pleasure is all mine, Miss l/n,” Tom said. The two of you talked some more, arranged the details such as time and location of the meet-up.

“Bye-bye,” you said and hung up almost immediately. You dropped the phone on the desk as if it was a microphone. 

With a smirk, you said: “And I’m in.” 


	2. The Man in the Red Jacket

A week went by, and you had done a lot since that phone call. In desperate need of some better and more “professional” clothing (Chippy’s words, not yours), you went shopping. You spent a whole day walking in and out of stores, getting rubbernecked at by ladies who probably had never seen a piercing before in their life, let alone a sternum one. 

Five hours, seven bags and several back problems later, you got back to your house. It was nothing fancy. Perfect for yourself and your two Dobermans, Shelley and Stoker. They greeted you with loud barks and wagging tails. You immediately dropped your day’s haul and fell on your knees to pet the pups. 

After a few minutes, the two finally calmed down, letting you pass to the living room. The bags stayed behind, forgotten at the door. You would pick them up eventually.

You sat down on the couch and slumped into the worn-down seat cushions. You stared ahead where you could see a reflection of yourself on the black tv screen. It was the only thing that would come up on the tv since you lost the remote. It was probably somewhere around, but you never watched tv anyway and honestly, you couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Eventually, Stoker would probably find it, and you would have to try to fight him to get it out from between his molars. But for now, all the dog was happily chewing on was a big squeaky octopus. The squeaks seemed to get louder and louder, seemingly going on forever. You thought about the days that he didn’t play with that toy. It could go on for weeks. He had plenty of other things to chew on, like your clothes, or toilet paper (wherever he got that from). It was, of course, in the times that you needed to concentrate or needed the sweet silence that he decided to fill your ears with the horrible screeching of the plastic plaything. 

Another sound filling the room was an old clock ticking away. The intricate hands showed you it was four o’clock. You had exactly 19 hours until you met with Mr Holland. You had agreed on that during your call last week, in Chippy’s gloomy office. 

_Eleven o’clock, Gloria._

Gloria. You had heard of that before. Fancy Italian place in Shoreditch. The part of the city that you always tried to avoid. It was filled with students who thought they were better than others for being “unconventional” and “eccentric” while in reality, they were exactly like the other 150 pretentious wankers in their lecture hall. 

When you looked it up, you saw it was right in the centre of it all. The plates seemed too empty for their price point, but then again, that’s what fancy is all about. Much too fancy for your liking. 

But not for this version of you. This y/n was all about going to overpriced restaurants and having meetings that have no business being held publicly. This version of you loved wearing heels and dresses and having your hair pulled back so tightly and neatly that it caused a headache.

This version was a good listener, typer and planner. Did the things that were asked of her, and did them flawlessly. 

That might have fused over from the real you, but it was a useful skill after all for “the perfect assistant”. And that was what you needed to play for the next- well, whoever knew how long you needed to do this. 

Being tired of just sitting around, you got up. As if on cue, Shelley ran up to you with her leash between her teeth. Apparently she had the same idea as you.

“Wanna stretch ya legs?” you picked up the leash from her mouth, evading the now slightly wet saliva covered part. The dog sat down with her tongue sticking out, looking up at you, awaiting the collar and leash to be put on her. You did just that. Then you went on looking for your other four-legged friend. You didn’t need to search long though since Stoker had just started to bark loudly. 

Knowing your neighbours hated the noise, you ran upstairs. He was standing with his front paws against your bedroom windowsill. Looking outside. You quickly put his collar on to pull him down. He shut up with some hesitance and a growl. 

“Hey, what’s that about?” you asked him while looking out of the window yourself. “Was he back again?” 

Of course the dog didn’t respond, but you didn’t need him to. There was no cat on the fence of your miniature front garden. All you could see was a man in a bomber jacket walking down the street. Just as he was turning the corner, you could just about see him flicking off the bud of a cigarette. You would think more of it if Stoker did not start to pull at his leash. 

“Alright, alright, you dork, calm down. We’re going.” And that was all the dog needed. He made his way downstairs alongside you and waited next to his partner in crime for you to put your shoes and jacket back on. You made sure you had your keys, phone, wallet and some dog treats with you and headed out. Like all the other days of the week, it had been grey and cold outside. The leaves on the trees in the park were slowly growing back to their green glory. Flowers were starting to peek through here and there, adding some colour to the otherwise dull streets. 

The walk to the park was short, just long enough for the dogs to get all excited, but not long enough to make you regret your decision of leaving the house. It was that time of the day that people were coming back from work, but most of them haven’t actually reached their homes yet, so the park was still pretty quiet. You walked a bit, away from the streets where it was safe to let your dogs off the leash. Almost immediately, they started to run around, chasing each other, and looking for bigger sticks to bring to you. 

In the meantime, you found yourself a little bench to sit on. As the dogs played, you took your phone out and saw you had a message from Chippy – something about you better not fucking up tomorrow. You decided to ignore it. You were probably the only one that could get away with that kind of shit. Of course, he would be pissed, but there was nothing more he could do. Unlike his gang of bumbling baboons, you were not his. You did what he _asked_ you to do. If you didn’t feel like it, he would have to find someone else. You did it because you were bored and because you still got some pretty good cash out of it. 

The dogs came back running, looking happier than ever. You walked them whenever you could, but it had been a while since you had time to properly let them have some fun in the grass and mud. Ah yes, the dirt that you just couldn’t wait to wash off of them later that evening. 

You were going off in your own little mind bubble, but it was soon popped by Stoker’s barks again. As if you were a dog yourself, your head turned in the direction of the sound almost instantly. You could see Stoker barking at a man while Shelley was walking circles around him. The same man you saw in your street not that long ago?! Yes, it must have been him. He was still wearing that same red bomber jacket. You jogged over to your dogs to try and calm them down. They didn’t need much persuasion as they walked up to you and let you attach their leashes back to their collars.

“I’m really sorry about them, I don’t know-” you tried to apologise. However, when you looked up, the man was already walking away, leaving you baffled. “Alright then…”

You watched as he walked away. A part of you wanted to go after him and ask what the fuck his problem was. The other part thought it was stupid and too much effort for a person you didn’t even know. You listened to the latter. 

The dogs were starting to get impatient again. You decided to keep them on the leash and walk around the park with them for a bit. It was maybe a few minutes later that you started to feel as if something was wrong. You had seen that man walk, not run, away in a different direction, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that he could still be around somewhere. So you couldn’t help but look around every now and then, yet no more bomber jacketed strangers were to be seen.

With that disturbing feeling still gnawing at you, you walked back home. You held the leashes tight, wrapped around your wrist. The dogs were well trained and never pulled, but you needed to feel that extra security.

It was obvious they could feel it, though. Stoker usually liked to walk a bit ahead, leading the pack, but today he stayed so close to you that you kept brushing your leg up against him any time you moved it. Shelley, on the other hand, you could see how tense she was. Looking around and sniffing everything, more than usual. You were glad to have them with you.

You were walking straight home and were in fact almost in your street when you realized you had nothing to eat for dinner. Of course, you could order in, but that had been your way out for the last five days. You needed something fresh. Plus, the cooking would help you get your mind off the strange feeling you had been having through this entire walk. 

With that in mind, you turned around and took a few turns where you knew the local market was. It was already getting late, and there weren’t many people around. You walked around, looking for whatever looked nice. Got some vegetables, bread, cheese, fish… and it was when you were chatting to the lad that was selling the fruit that you noticed something. 

You could see your reflection on the metal scale that was on the table next to the fruits. You glanced at it for a second, checking if your hair had gone completely berzerk while out in the park. What you saw, however, made your blood freeze and boil at the same time. It was that guy – from the park, from the street corner. Now he was standing behind you. You had to give it to him, you almost didn’t recognize him since he had gotten rid of the jacket. But it was definitely and undeniably him. The fact that Stoker kept growling from time to time also helped to get to your conclusion.

“Everything alright, love?” the fruit guy asked while packing up the bag of apples you bought. You nodded quickly, not really paying attention. Your eyes still fixed on the scale to see what your stalker was doing. He was looking around at the stalls of fresh products, but you saw him glance over at you. What the fuck was going on? 

You paid for the fruits and made your way out of the market. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest of ideas. You not only had two dog leashes but also several bags full of food that slowed you down. Not to mention, making it harder to pull out your emergency pepper spray that you always had in your pocket. To think that you called your mother paranoid for telling you to bring it everywhere when you were younger. Of course, back then, you never expected to have been involved with the gang life of the city. Or to be followed through that same city by some stranger.

You kept walking, not turning around or speeding up your step. You had no clue if the stranger was still behind you, but you also didn’t want him to be aware of your awareness. In general, it was a very stressful and confusing situation. And that stress and confusion didn’t stop until you reached the threshold of your home. You opened the door quickly, letting the dogs in ahead of you to lock the door behind you, checking both locks and the latch to confirm they were secure. Having had enough of you, Shelley ran off to her bed, but Stoker stayed at your side. He watched you as you turned around to look through the peephole. Your heart was already beating fast, but when you saw the man standing there, it reached an inhuman speed. You kept watching him while he watched your door. He looked around the empty street before solemnly focusing on your door. 

You had a tight grip around your phone, but no intention of making any calls. Any other person would call the police without thinking, unless they were involved in the bullshit that you were a part of. If the police came to you, they would ask questions, looking for the man’s motive as to why he would be following you. That would quickly follow up to your contacts on the dark side of town, including Chippy. 

Moreover, this could easily make a catchy headline on the news. You could see it in front of you. _STALK VICTIM ACTUALLY A CRIMINAL MASTERMIND?!_ No. That could not happen. Especially considering your position in Chippy’s plan. If you were to be discovered, it could lead to an actual war between the gangs. The London streets would turn even more dangerous and would be filled with turmoil.

Your eyes didn’t leave the man for a second. You watched as he checked his phone. Twice. You watched as he took out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled out one toxic little tab and put it loosely against his lips… 

“Oh, you motherfucker.” You groaned against the door. That gesture made it clear who your new friend was. You immediately recognized him. You had seen a man hold a cigarette in the exact same way just a week ago. In front of the Holland building. It was the guy you passed by as you were walking inside. You didn’t recognize him without his Bugsy Siegel wannabe outfit, but now you could see it was him.

The longer you looked, the surer you were that it was him. The man from the doorstep. Now the question was, what was he doing following you around? Did Holland set him up? Making him track you?  
That gave you some unnerving feelings. How long had he been following you? Was this the only thing they did? What if they could listen in on your calls? After all, you had talked to Tom for a long time, arranging that meeting. They could have easily traced your phone. 

_Fuck_. You banged your head against the door once, mentally going through everything you had done that week. There was nothing you could think of. You hadn’t met with anyone from the Noirs Dupeurs in the last few days, and you had a second phone that only you and Chippy knew the number of when it came to the plan. 

The panic in you continued for a little longer. You watched the blonde guy stand there until he left. He looked at his watch and walked away. It had gotten late, so he disappeared quickly into the darkness. You looked at your clock as well. Seven o’clock. Damn. You made your way to the kitchen and finally started to unpack your groceries from the market. As you were doing so, you had the urge to call Chippy and tell him what just happened. He probably should be aware of it, right? But the paranoia in you was still thriving. What if, somehow, they could record your calls?

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts as you were stuffing the vegetables in the last empty spots in the fridge, mentally making a note to remember to clean it out soon.

_______________________________________

The next morning you woke up with a throbbing headache. The bed and covers were swallowing you up which you accepted gladly. You stayed in bed for another few minutes. A few turned into thirty and then some more until you had to rush through your entire routine. 

Fortunately, you had picked out your outfit the night before or you would have been royally screwed. You took a shower, brushed everything that needed to be, ate some breakfast and got dressed. The makeup was minimal, but efficient to cover your dark circles.

Shelley and Stoker kept running around you as you stumbled around the house. They had never seen you be so busy in the morning. It was currently 10:30. You still had some time left before you had to catch your bus. If you didn’t miss it, you would be at the restaurant just a bit after eleven, the time you had agreed to meet your new boss, ready to catch him without barely any bait needed. 

And so you caught the bus. It was 10:47 on a Wednesday. Some time had already passed since rush hour, the streets and the bus equally empty. Just a few housewives on their way to the book clubs they used as an excuse to get drunk before noon. You couldn’t blame them. If you had to take care of a house and have to deal with ungrateful brats for children and a good for nothing husband who would rather watch a game of fucking cricket than make you- uhum. Well, casual alcoholism was a simple solution.

You sat down in a seat away from the other people and put headphones on. You weren’t listening to any music, but you hoped that whoever needed it, would see the hint. It was warm on the bus. Why was it always so hot? It was pure inconvenience really, having to take off your scarf and jacket for such a short ride. Not to mention, you didn’t really have space to be doing that in the first place. But you couldn’t show up at the meeting all hot and sweaty.

You spent your time on the bus looking out the window. There was something soothing about seeing the city like this. Zooming through the streets, you were already a street further before you could even try to read any sign in any shop’s window. Then, while at a red light, just looking at the people passing outside, you were somehow in the middle of it all while not being included at all. 

Somehow this resonated with your life in a lot of ways. After all, you always found yourself in the middle of the war between gangs while, officially, you weren’t even part of one. Everything you did was simply because you did it for Chippy. He was your friend, after all. But besides that, you were good at what you did. So why the fuck not?

Throughout the entire ride, people kept stepping in and out. You watched closely, making sure none of them was your little blonde friend from yesterday. You hadn’t seen him ever since he disappeared into the darkness and you actually wanted to keep it that way. 

Then the bus stopped at your destination. You stepped out, back into the fresh air. The wind was blowing like usual, so you re-wrapped your scarf and buttoned your jacket back up. Staying on the lookout for the man, you crossed the street and took a turn. You had looked it up to know that the restaurant was somewhere close to the bus stop.

Google Maps didn’t disappoint. Five minutes later, you found yourself staring at a building that looked as if it was ripped straight out of a travelling catalogue. An Italian trattoria with every brick covered by sunshine yellow awnings, ivy, and literally dozens of terracotta pots which were in their turn overflowing with greenery. It was a somewhat questionable set up for a restaurant in the industrial East London, but alright. With a sigh, you walked in. 

The interior was even worse than the outside if that was actually possible. Also, nothing that you expected. You thought to be seeing an Italian _ristorante_ , but what you got was a vague mix of ‘50s-style and ‘70s-esque furniture. Of course, these were also surrounded by plants.

But you didn’t even have time to look at everything that was going on. Before the door had closed behind you, a waiter came walking up. 

“Good day, Miss. Do you have a reservation?”

“Uhm, I’m here to meet someone,” you said. You weren’t really sure how Holland would get tables here. Would he be using his actual name or maybe an alias? “Holland?” you said eventually. The waiter seemed to get it immediately. He nodded his head and told you to follow him.

You followed him downstairs, into a room with dark walls. Although, with the open kitchen, it was actually lighter than the upper floor with windows. Another difference was that this level had booths instead of tables surrounded by couches and chairs. A few of the sitting boxes were already occupied, and everyone in them seemed to be here for the same reason you were. Business. 

The waiter that showed you the way pointed out a booth. Your eyes followed his hand, and in an instant, your body froze. There he was, sipping on a cup of tea in the corner of the room, his blonde hair quiffed perfectly. The bomber jacket was exchanged back for the suit you had seen him in for the first time. It was him, your stalker. Eventually, your feet unfroze, and you sauntered up to the booth, not sure what to expect. Had he found something on you? Did he tell Holland about it? Of course, he did. So now he was here to probably just shoot you. That’s how it went with people like them. You wouldn’t be surprised if they owned the restaurant.

The man saw you walk up and stood up with a smile. You had to admit, it was a charming smile, but that didn’t stop you from being scared for your life. 

“y/n,” he said, holding out his hand, “so great you could make it.”

“Uhm, yes,” you were still slightly flustered and not sure what to say. “I mean, I couldn’t miss it, could I?” You smiled, hoping it could come off casually. 

“Of course. And please excuse Mr Holland for not being here. He had an important… meeting he had to get to, last minute,” your mystery man explained. You nodded with understanding. To be fair, you had not expected Holland to show up here. It would have been nice, but this was no surprise.

“Let me help you with that.” He was still smiling softly as he helped you take off your jacket. You sat down opposite of him.

“I hope you like cinnamon tea, I ordered a pot in advance-”

“Why were you following me yesterday?” you spat out, completely catching him off guard. He was ready to pour you a cup, already holding the pot in his hands when you asked him. He looked up at you with his big blue eyes but then grinned.

“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed me.”

“Well, you’re not exactly the greatest spy out there.”

“No, I am not,” he agreed and poured you the cup of tea. You took it and sipped a little. It was cinnamon for sure.

“So who _are_ you?” you asked.

“I’m Harrison. Osterfield.” He looked at you from behind his own cup, awaiting a reaction, but there was none. You were running through your mind trying to think where you could have heard that name before but came up blank. Not to mention, if you had met such a good looking guy at a different time, you were sure you would remember his name.

“Alright, _Harrison_ , let’s try again. Why were you following me?” This might have been a very blunt way of talking to the person who was supposed to give you your new contract, but you had some rights to know.

“Canvassing. Mr. Holland told me to look into you.”

“And what did you find?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Studied at Oxford?” he said, but it was more of a question awaiting confirmation, so you did with a nod. He continued. “Parents split up in a nasty divorce, possibly leaving you with some childhood trauma. You moved out from your dad’s when you were sixteen and after you finished school moved around until you settled here last year… Oh, and you have a great love for gothic horror novels.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I may not be a great spy, but I sure do appreciate good dog names. Shelley? Stoker? Admirable choices.” He sipped some more of his tea. You leaned back in the booth seat with your hands still on the edge of the table.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” You were actually impressed. “If I didn’t know what we were here for, I might have actually given you my number.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” he smirked, “I already have it.”

Of course, you do, you thought. You imagined anyone else applying for this job, unbeknownst to them what they were getting into and hearing this shit. It made you chuckle.

“Something humouring you, darling?” Harrison raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing.” You moved on with a wave of our hand. “So if you’ve already done this whole investigation and didn’t cancel this lunch, can I assume that the job is mine?”

“You’re direct. I like that. Yes, the job is yours.” Harrison unbuttoned his suit to reveal a lobelia kind of blue button-up shirt and to pull out a folded up piece of paper from the inside pocket. He already had a pen lying on the table. He pushed it over to you so you could unfold the writing yourself.

With the pen in hand, you read the contract thoroughly. Everything felt very reasonable. Good hours, more than enough money, no absurd requirements. Of course, the expected non-disclosure was added on at the end. This, in particular, made you smile.

After a final check to see if you had indeed read everything, you signed it. You were in it officially, the game could begin.

“Welcome to the team, y/n,” Harrison said as he took the paper and put it back in his pocket.

You just smiled in the sweetest way you knew how. 

“Oh, believe me, pleasure’s all mine.” 


	3. New Cherry Lipstick

The meeting with Harrison was on a Wednesday. You were called in for your first day at work the next Monday. Just like that day two weeks ago, you walked down the street. It was raining again. Of course, it was. Why would the earth let you catch a break if you could just as well jump around, avoiding puddles, in a tight pencil skirt and uncomfortable heels? **  
**

The iron gate was just as heavy and loud as the first time. This time, however, you didn’t meet anyone in front of the door. Though, for a second you felt that feeling again, the same one as in the park. You felt like you were being watched again. Quickly turning around, you expected someone to be standing behind you, but there was no one there. It was when you looked at the windows, however, that it seemed as if you saw one of the heavy curtains move as someone walked away. You quickly shook that thought out of your mind. It was probably just a trick of the light.

You let yourself in and hung up your wet coat and umbrella on the hangers. It was still not clear if you were allowed to do that, but it felt appropriate. The rain, as unpleasant as it was, did help you appreciate the warmth inside since the temperature in the building was set to undeniably hot. It was actually like walking into a pillow… or more like… the pillow was thrown at your face. Very intense. 

You were told to meet Mr Holland in his office, so that was where you were headed. Down the hall, up the round staircase, following the path of artworks which were worth more than you would probably ever be. Then came the next hallway, even hotter than downstairs, and a problem. You could not remember which door was his office. Was it left or right? One thing you knew for sure is that, in this place, you couldn’t really just barge in through any door you wanted. Who knew what was going on behind these doors. With one move of the handle, you could be witnessing something that might undoubtedly get you killed. That would be something - dead on the first day of the job. 

Right as a little bit of panic started to kick in, you heard a whoosh over the carpet, making you turn around. 

“Good morning, miss y/l/n/,” Tom said with a small smile. You had to admit, he looked handsome. It was irrefutable, he always did. In his dark grey suit that fit to the most modest crease. His shoes were still shiny. You could assume that they were specially bought for the inside of the building. His hair was styled to perfection but not overdone. 

“Good morning, Mr Holland.” You nodded your head slightly down with a smile imitating his. He stepped aside, letting you pass through the doorway.

“Please, come in.” He showed you the way and you, just like last time, followed. 

“I would like to thank you again, sir, for the opportunity. It really means a lot to me,” you said as you sat down in that same chair. 

“The pleasure is all mine, truly. I have to admit that you were one of, if not _the_ best, applicant for the job. To not give you the job would be an offence.” He explained as he, too, sat down. It surprised you that listening to his words made you blush. You knew you were great but being recognised in it… It just hit differently. 

“On that note, let me explain-” his tone changed. There was no more boyish charm to be detected in his voice. You knew you were sitting opposite one of the most dangerous men in the world. It was quite exciting. “We run a tight ship around here. Everything we do should be done as best and as smoothly as possible. We do not appreciate slip-ups.”

“I understand, sir.” You nodded, reading the cold certainty in his eyes. It made you uneasy, but you focused on breathing lightly to keep that at bay for now.

“We believe that Holland Enterprise is just like a machine and that trust is the essential part that makes it work so well. It would be a shame for someone to break this machine." 

"I understand, sir,” you repeated. Next followed a second of you and him looking into each other’s eyes. You remembered to breathe calmly and not tense up. You were so close. Almost in. Just one more lie and you’d be in. 

“Good, I thought someone as smart as you would.” His shoulders suddenly slacked and he leaned back in his large office chair. You followed suit in your seat with a nervous smile. As if on cue, the door behind you opened, and your pal Harrison walked in. He didn’t step inside; however, he just stood in the doorway with his arms behind his back. If only he’d had sunglasses on, he would be looking like a sexy bodyguard.

“You already met Mr Osterfield,” Holland stood up so you assumed you should do the same. “If you follow him, he will show you to your new office." 

"Thank you, sir.” You made your way to Harrison and greeted him with a smile and nod. He walked off silently, and you just followed. The hallway that you were in continued for many more doors, all identically black. You counted them. _5… 6… 7_. The eighth on the left was where Harrison finally stopped. He opened it to reveal an office. It actually did not hold much difference from the one you had previously been in except for the fact that it was a bit smaller. For the rest, the furniture and setup was the same. 

“Well, here you are.” Harrison let you inside. “On the desk, you will find your new phone, use it for business only… or emergencies, no personal calls. Next, there should be a com. If someone in the office will need your assistance, you’ll hear it there. Mr Holland is on line four.” As Harrison explained that, you wondered who was on the first three. 

“If you got any questions-" 

"I do actually have one,” you turned around to look at him. He smiled. 

“Then you should find Harry, I was going to say, but yes?”

“Can I redecorate?” You smiled, and he did, as well. 

“Do whatever you want." 

"Great,” you said as you made your way to the grand chair behind the desk. “Another question, will you still follow me around, or was that a one-time thing?" 

Harrison chuckled. "I don’t plan on it… unless some trouble should come up." 

"Of course, of course,” you mumbled. Harrison was already getting ready to leave, but you chimed in once more. “One more thing!" 

"Yes?" 

"Who is this _Harry_ , then?" 

_Harry_ turned out to be Harry Holland. Younger brother of the boss-man. He was "the guy that knows a guy”. You understood why he was the one who you were supposed to ask all the questions to, since he knew everything about everyone almost anywhere. Not to mention, he was sneaky, that most of the time, the people he knew didn’t even know Harry existed. 

And of course, like his brother, Harry was very good looking. Considering your pal Harrison too, maybe it was a requirement for a successful mob gang… 

But looks aren’t forever, that much knows everyone and you would make sure of it. If you had to punch their pretty white teeth out yourself, it’s just what you would have to do. They could afford a new pair anyway. They could bear so much shit. That was the annoying part of it all. They had all the money in the world… and that came on the side of the fortune. The fortune they were making by stealing business from your friends and everyone else in the city. The Hollands ran a business empire and they were, without a doubt, great at it. So why did they have to meddle in with the mob life? Nobody knew for sure. Maybe someone got bored of the stock market and decided that narcotics and firearms were more interesting… and who could blame them? It is much more fun. 

This fact brought in an entirely new challenge in itself to the plan. Since you had taken a job at Holland Enterprise, you would need time to get close to the family. To properly get into their business. 

There was a lot you had to do, but you had to stop thinking about it. It wasn’t what mattered now. Obviously, it was a problem, but it was another problem besides the bigger problem. There were, in fact, so many problems that you couldn’t really keep track of them even if you tried. 

Now, you had to sit. 

Just like Harrison told you, there was a phone on your desk. It looked better than any phone you had before. The screen was still shiny and in one piece. No corners were nicked from dozens of drops to the ground. There was no lock on it, so you quickly turned it on and checked the contacts. There were no names, just numbers. _Well, that’s not annoying at all._ Were you expected to memorise them? That wasn’t really your thing. You were proud of yourself for being able to remember your own number at a bar when a guy asked you for it and but it didn’t go much further than that. 

Also on the desk was the communicator. It really looked like a stationary phone with the receiver ripped out. You could even see the hole on the side of it where the cord should have been, covered in some plaster. Was it a strategy to keep things cheap? Or a memory from the person whose job you took over? You would never know. 

Then there were some more things on the desk, a computer screen with a keyboard, a penholder with a few writing utensils in it, nothing out of the ordinary. What caught your eye was the sheet of paper that was lying face down in front of you, so you quickly picked it up. The words were typed in a small font, not even covering half the page. It was a list. 

  * Refile documents _(ask H)_



H? Harry? Whoever wrote this, really could have been a bit more specific.

  * Pick up suits. 
  * Walk with Tessa. 



And like that the list went on…

You assumed that Tessa was a dog. This was practically a chore list of things to do. Pretty simple and straightforward tasks you could expect from an assistant job. Some of them had little dates scribbled next to them. Feeling they were the deadlines, you thought the rest could take a few days or were things that had to be done several times. 

After reading the list a few more times, you looked into the drawers of the desk. The top ones on either side were empty. Then, the middle drawer on the right contained nothing but a hardcover notebook. Almost like a journal. It looked pretty. The cover was made out of black pleather, on it the logo of Holland Enterprise engraved in silver: A geometric spider with what you assumed was an H in the middle of it. You flipped through it. Empty. So it must be for you. The pages itself also had Holland Enterprise stamped on them. Custom paper. Fancy.

Your scavenging was interrupted when there was a knock on the door, making you look up.

“Come in,” you said. Your voice was surprisingly stable. As the door opened, you felt the urge to fix a strand of hair that was hanging loosely. In the morning, you had chosen to go with a little more of a casual hairstyle, but now it suddenly didn’t feel right anymore. 

The door opened and in walked Tom. You didn’t expect it to be him, so he was met with a bit of a wide-eyed expression from you. He smiled. 

“How’s the office?” He walked up to the desk. You were about to stand up, but he was already ahead of you, sitting down in the chair opposite yours. It was like a strange role reversal from five minutes ago. Suddenly you were the big boss in the large chair. You liked it. So, the smile you gave him was very genuine. 

“It’s wonderful. Though I would like to make a few adjustments… if that’s alright,” you added on quickly. Yes, Harrison said it was alright, but you still felt better asking him about it. You had to be careful around here. It was the plan to stay around as long as possible. You would be useless if they kicked you out after a day.

“Do whatever you please,” he said. The smile on his soft lips looked so kind. He spoke so sophisticated, so sure of himself. Even the most straightforward phrases. They were, in a strange way, perfect. 

“I came in because I realised we forgot to bring you one more thing.” You watched him unbutton his suit jacket and feel around in his inside pocket. Out he pulled a platinum card. 

“Here you go.” He placed it on the table and pushed it with two fingers your way. You had to remember to close your mouth. Gently you picked it up. In your hand you held, most likely, more money than you had ever had in your entire life. And it was given to you just like that… 

“This is for all the expenses you are most likely to make on the job. Of course, personal payments can be made too.” His voice was somewhat tainted with a hint of amusement. 

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t dare, sir- I mean, it’s company money." 

"Believe me, we have plenty of that around here.” He got up again. “And I strongly believe that the well-being of the employees is a good investment in itself. Please, treat yourself." 

You were actually speechless. Was Holland really allowing you to spend this money on yourself? A part of you was really fucking thrilled, but the other… was fuming at how easily he could waste money. It was bizarre, to say the least. 

But hey, he told you to treat yourself, so why the fuck not. 

Tom left your office without another word, but you didn’t really care much. You were still looking at the little piece of plastic in your hand, tapping your nails over it. Ideas of what you could get were forming in your head, but you couldn’t be too rash. You had a job to do. In a sense, even more than one. 

Now that you had officially been welcomed into the team, got your own office and supplies, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do. Glancing back at the list, you saw the current date next to _"Pick up order at White Diamond”._

_White_ _Diamond_ , you recognised that name. It was a luxurious store downtown. Of course, what else could it be when it was named that. 

With your new phone and credit card in hand, you headed out of the building. It was still strange to walk through the hallways. They were so empty. It had no corporate feel to it, more like… like it was one of their 10 mansions that they just decided to turn into an office. 

As you kept walking to the exit, past all those closed doors, you wondered how many people were in the building with you. You knew that at least Harrison was somewhere around, and Tom was in his office… but there were so many rooms, so many corridors. What were they hiding? You needed to find out. 

It was at the middle of the staircase that you heard a strange noise. If you had not been used to it being around Chippy’s so often, you would not have been able to recognise it immediately. Gunshots.

The fear in you started to rise as the sound reverberated through the walls. It was astounding how easy it seemed for a business family to hear a shooting early in the morning without a commotion populating the hallways. There wasn’t even a single cry of panic in the background, or a yelp of surprise. Was this really this normal for them? 

This, for sure, triggered your curiosity. It was always something that got you into trouble. It didn’t matter if this time it could get you killed, you wanted to know what was going on.

So, you followed the bellowing echoes of the shots. You went down the stairs, but instead of going straight, you turned left. Really, how did they not get lost around here? All the corridors and doors looked precisely the same… But the shots got louder so knew you were going the right way. 

Then you saw it. One door was open. Just the tiniest bit, but it was enough to carry the loud blast through the empty hallways.

Inside you saw Harrison. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. You watched as he stretched out his arm, held the gun in front of him and… BANG BANG, shot twice. 

You couldn’t see what he was shooting at, but from what you could see, the room was empty. It was nothing but concrete walls and flooring. Next to Harrison stood a little table, on it boxes of various ammunition. 

“You know, you’re not that great of a spy yourself, y/l/n,” Harrison said as he reloaded his gun. He hadn’t even glanced in your direction. Since your presence had been made known, you stepped inside. This place was much colder than the rest of the building. This was explained as soon as you walked in… since it wasn’t much of a room, to begin with. More like an entrance to the large garden behind the house. A whole wall was missing. You looked ahead to see the grass and the cloudy grey sky above a glass ceiling. Some metres away from where Harrison was standing, in the direction he had just been shooting at, were two targets. Both already filled with several gunshot holes.

“Hobby?” you asked as you walked up to him. You looked at the guns that were on the table. There was nothing that caught your eye in particular. 

“More like a… mandatory self-defence course.” He laughed. “Not that I don’t enjoy it." 

"Mandatory, you say?” You traced your fingers over a pistol mindlessly. “Why is it so necessary?" 

The question seemed to be making Harrison a bit flustered. 

"Not that it’s necessary… but you never know when you might need it." 

"Do I need it?” you asked bluntly, stepping away from the table up to him.

“Maybe, eventually.” He saw the way you raised your eyebrow. “If you manage to stick around long enough for a promotion." 

You started wondering what kind of promotion needed gun training. Still, you wanted to keep your calm and not show too much intention of prying.

"I sure plan on it." 

"Then I will be happy to teach you.” He smiled… except the smile didn’t reach his eyes. You watched as he unloaded the gun with a simple click. You weren’t sure what it was, but something made your knees feel a bit weak, so you decided to look around. Anywhere but at his hands.

“I can’t help but feel a bit dumb here, I am a bit new to the whole _Fortune 500_ thing, does every business have a shooting range?” you clearly joked.

“Well, to start off, you wouldn’t believe the things we got around here, and well… there is no business out there like ours,” Harrison spoke nonchalantly. You nodded along. The amount of absolute bullshit that was coming out of these people’s mouths around here was actually fascinating. Still, you listened as if you cared. 

“Not that I need to tell you that,” he said with a hint of amusement.

“What do you mean?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, I think you know exactly what kind of place this is." 

"I do?” you kept questioning him… and you could tell he didn’t like it. Still, it was fun, and he kept his cool. Although, the conversation had a tension in it, like a rubber band that was about to snap. 

“C'mon, no one would be standing here so calmly after having heard and seen me shoot a Glock in the greenhouse. Not to mention, it was my job to find out everything I could about you. You must know that what we handle with, or at least how it can be risky." 

You didn’t like where this conversation was going. Not at all. You looked Harrison in the eyes. In the bright artificial light, they were even more striking.

"Honestly, as long as I don’t get into trouble and get paid enough, I don’t care what is going on here,” you stated. Harrison laughed under his breath. “What’s so funny?" 

"Nothing. I wasn’t so sure about you at first, but now- you got a good attitude, might actually fit right at home here." 

"Thanks…” You weren’t sure how to react to that. Next followed a moment of silence. Neither of you spoke or looked at each other. It was a bit numbing, to say the least. 

Then you remembered you had actually been planning on going somewhere before Harrison had caught your attention. He didn’t ask where you were going, but before you left the room, he called out: “Want me to drive you?" 

_No, not really._

"Sure,” you said. You waited in the doorway. Harrison unrolled his sleeves, grabbed his jacket, put the gun in the secret holster he had hanging in the lining… really, how long could a person take. Yet, you kept your proper attitude up. 

Finally ready, Harrison led the way to an entirely new part of the building. You paid as much attention as you could to the directions. Not only to remember your way out of this place, but you had promised Chippy a full report. You could tell it was going to be exhausting to try and explain all of this. 

Harrison was apparently leading you up to the garage. Just like the makeshift shooting range you had just left, this was also just concrete on concrete. A row of 4 identical shiny black cars was parked in the middle. 

Four matching keys were hanging next to the door. Harrison grabbed one of them and walked to the car nearest to you. You followed. 

“Where are we going?” he finally asked. You told him the name of the store. For some reason, he smiled to himself. You, however, didn’t question it. You already had had too long of a conversation with him. It was bad enough that he was following you everywhere. 

The White Diamond was located on the other side of the city. This meant it was a long drive you and Harrison had to take, especially with the heavy traffic that was filling the streets. The first ten minutes of the ride, neither of you said a word. Harrison focused on the road while you directed your eyes on him. You kept your eyes on him without a real intention. When he glanced at you, you didn’t look away. There was no reason to hide it. 

“I have to say, Harrison,” you finally broke the silence, “you have been confusing me a little bit." 

"Oh, have I now?” The idea of that clearly made him smile as he made a turn. 

“Definitely. I mean, everything about this job is out of the ordinary, but I just can’t place you in it. What is it that you do?" 

"I can do anything, darling.”

“Good to know, but it’s just that… you must have a position in this business, don’t you?" 

"You can call me, in a way, the right-hand man of Mr Holland. I do the dirty jobs he asks me to do.” He spoke with a distant tone, as if he had the answer there, prepared, for a long time. 

“Ah, so you’re an assistant too." 

"Call it what you want, but know that when you leave, I’ll still be here.” He shot you a dirty look. He had one hand on the wheel, and as he held it, his knuckles were slowly turning paler. 

“I can tell that you don’t like me." 

"It’s only been a lunch and a day, so don’t get me wrong. I think I like you, but you _confuse_ me too, y/l/n. I’m sure you know that our ways are quite unconventional and they have scared more than a few employees off, yet you… you don’t even seem to be questioning them. We both know it was my job to figure out if you were safe for our company and believe me, I am not done looking, because I can feel there is something more to you. I just can…” and with that, you had arrived in the parking lot of the boutique. 

As you were stepping out, you realised you had just spent an entire car ride with the first, and possibly largest, problem you might have to encounter on your job. Harrison was already suspicious of you, and it hadn’t been a day. You had to work on yourself. Being good at the game wasn’t everything if the others didn’t play fair. It was never your thing, but you could play dirty too…

The store was bustling with customers. From the point of entrance, you could perceive the type of people that walked around. The type to have too much money to spend. What the fuck were you doing here? 

Actually… What _were_ you doing here? All you knew was that you had to pick up an order… but where? What even was it? This was becoming a nightmare. 

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Harrison whispered on your side. You looked over and sent him a look of zero appreciation. There goes your bonding experience. Or maybe it was the opposite. You had slowly been building up an enemy in him, getting it out there, making the problem known. 

With no response coming from you, Harrison rolled his eyes. 

“Just go to the counter, let me know when you’re ready,” and just like that, he left. Disappeared into the crowd. While making your way over to the said counter, you had caught a quick glance of him chatting up a lady. He seemed very in his element. 

You walked in the direction Harrison had pointed at and, indeed, there was a counter. A girl around your age was standing behind it, visibly bored. She was looking at her long red nails as you walked up to her. 

“Hi,” you said. 

“How can I help you,” she said monotonously. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it were her parents that owned the place and made her work there.

“I’m here to pick up something for… Holland?” With those words, it was as if a switch had flipped. The girl stood up straight as a pencil and looked directly at you. 

“Oh, right. Yes, just- please, give me a second, ma'am,” she flustered out before running off to the place where they kept the whatever-it-was you were here for. By her reaction alone, you were sure that the Hollands (or at least Tom) were regulars here. 

She soon came back with a small velvet box. It was just a bit too big to have your fingers around it in a grip. The girl opened the case, and there was a shiny, silver watch inside. _Was this really what you came here for?_

Was this really what your life had become? Going out doing errands for your enemy while basically being tailgated by his little buddy? You were really questioning this entire operation. You agreed to it, thinking it would be exciting, but… if you had to spend the next half a year going around stores shopping for expensive watches… could you really do it? 

“Yup, that’s it,” Harrison said from behind you, completely out of nowhere. In that quick second, you didn’t know whether to scream or punch him below the belt. He was uncomfortably close to you, so with a push of the shoulder, you made sure you had some distance. Without looking at him, you asked: 

“Wasn’t I supposed to be handling this, _Osterfield_?" 

"You didn’t even know why you were here. Someone had to make sure we’re getting what we came for.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel the cold stare he was giving the poor girl behind the counter. There was definitely some tension there. A warning. It made you wonder what happened. 

Something about her, made you think the girl should have been shaking, but her hands were steady as she wrapped the watch back up. You took out your pretty and shiny new business credit card, but then your eye caught something. It was a small stack of packages next to the counter. 12 or so, identical black boxes. The name of the brand was written on it in silver letters. Yet, you couldn’t accurately read it because whatever material was used for it, was reflecting in the lights of the store. To show off the product, even more, a sample form was standing next to the little box pyramid. It was a classic red lipstick. Just the perfect hint of sweetness mixed with seduction. 

"Get it already,“ Harrison grabbed a box. You thought you had only glanced at it, but maybe it took you a bit longer. Or maybe, he saw you look at it more than once. Either case, he wanted to move on and get out. Of course, that wouldn’t happen. Not if it was up to you. 

"What? No, I can’t. I don’t have-" 

"Money?” Harrison scoffed and just pushed the credit card towards the girl. You, already feeling embarrassed by him enough, didn’t want to fight, so you just let it happen. You thanked her, slightly bitter, and walked away with everything in a small black bag. 

You didn’t speak to Harrison until you were by the car. The parking lot seemed relatively empty, so you felt comfortable continuing your conversation. 

“You know, at first, I thought your little attitude was cute, but now, you should really watch it,” he said as he opened the door on his side. You mirrored him. Neither of you stepped inside.

“I’m sorry I don’t feel like being walked over. Seriously, what is your problem? I’ve known you for a day. All I did was get a job and ask you about guns-” Suddenly you could hear footsteps behind you. Both of you turned in the direction to see a man walking by with a few shopping bags. Now more hushed, you continued: “-that _you were shooting_. Since when is that a crime? What have I done wrong?" 

"I’m sure there is plenty of that, but I don’t think you want to get into that on the parking lot.” And with that, he got into the car. With a slight groan, you got in too. This was going to be a long ride. 

Harrison gave you a bare 3 seconds to buckle up before he drove off. 

“You didn’t do shit wrong, and that’s what I don’t like,” he said, which threw you off quite a bit. “I don’t trust people who don’t have anything on them." 

"I used to shoplift chapsticks when I was 12. Is that good enough for you?" 

He chuckled, but only for a brief moment. For that same amount of time, he made you think of Chippy. He held the stirring wheel the same way, and he always confused the fuck out of you too. 

"It will do for now,” he spoke calmly. Not in the way you would want him to talk to you during this conversation. It was, to put it merely, off-putting.

That also ended the discussion entirely. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the drive back to the office. As you reached more busy streets again, Harrison had to drive slower. You found this to be the perfect opportunity to open up the mirror above the passenger’s seat and test out your new lipstick. 

As much as Harrison annoyed you, and how weird it might have felt to buy it off of company money, you were glad you did. The shade fit your lips perfectly. Extra bonus was that by being too occupied with that, you had reached the office in no time. You stepped out as quickly as you could and practically ran up to Tom’s office and knocked on his door. 

“Mr Holland?” you said with a sweet melody covering your voice, “I got your order from White Diamond." 

"Great. Thank you, y/n,” he said. You walked up to his desk and put the small box in front of him. He didn’t show much expression, just a vague hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth poked through. You watched him open the packaging and take the watch in his hands. For such a small and relatively fragile object, it looked really heavy. 

“What do you think?” He moved his arm around, showing off all the angles. The sun shining through the large windows behind him made the silver of the watch shine even more. 

“It’s uhm…” _Ugly. Pretentious. Tasteless._ “It looks… expensive." 

"Yeah, that’s what I thought too. A bit too much if you ask me.” He took it off again, shaking his wrist. “And fucking heavy as well.” He sat back down, putting the watch in a lacklustre way back into the box. “I had a better one, but it unfortunately got damaged to no repair. I guess I’ll have to keep looking." 

You nodded along with his words. A part of you got a bit mad. You just went out and got that stupid, overpriced, piece of metal junk just for him to throw it out? Fucking-

"Do you know someone who might like it?" 

"What?” You shook your head, thinking you might have misheard him during your mental anger management session. 

“I know it’s a bit much,” Tom laughed, “but it would be a pity not to make use of it. Here, take it." 

He looked at you with a kind smile as you thanked him and took the box back. His eyes lingered on you. More precisely, your lips. You didn’t say anything of it though.

He appeared… so natural. It seemed to keep happening to you that there were these moments, glimpses, that made him look like a typical guy. Just a bloke who you would see in a bookstore or a bar. In those tiny moments, you forgot what he actually was, even what you were supposed to do. Not wanting to be there anymore, you excused yourself. 

"Of course, I’m sure you have many more important things to be doing than standing around." 

And with that send-off, you walked out of the office. To no surprise, Harrison was outside. It almost felt like he was out there waiting for you. He was leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket. 

"Did he like the lipstick?" 

"Yeah, I guess so." 

And without saying another word, he walked away again. You kept your eyes on him as he disappeared in the hallway. Leaving you all alone and confused. You had no idea what was going on or what he meant, and you didn’t like it one bit. It made your skin prickle with apprehension. 

What was Harrison up to? 


	4. Dressed in Garnet

It was quiet in the room. The only sound heard was booming music from outside, together with the swish of the switchblade in your hand. You walked around, from side to side, expecting a reaction from Chippy but nothing came of it. The blade kept turning swiftly between your fingers. You could feel his dark eyes on you, following you around from corner to corner. 

“Well, that’s about it.” You added after a long period of silence. The two of you shared a look for what seemed like an eternity, but when there was still no reaction, you let out a sigh of exasperation. “What?”

“C'mon, you’ve been there for two weeks, and that’s all you got?” He said, leaning back on the musty couch. 

You had to take a second to be sure you heard him correctly. 

“Excuse me? I just gave you an hour-long report. What fucking more do you want from me?”

“Actual intel.” He scoffed. A muscle in your eyebrow twitched, but you didn’t respond. Instead, you focused on the music from the other room. The usual techno rave crap that junkies could get off on with their stupid neon body paint. 

“Like, hell, give me something I give a fuck about actually. Who cares how many cars the bastard has? You were supposed to provide me with shit that will burn the fucker down to the ground." 

"Oh really, I thought I was just supposed to walk his dog.” You rolled your eyes to the side. You had stopped playing with the knife in your hand and were now holding it in a tight grip. “You know I’m just an assistant to him, right. Like I have no business knowing shit about them." 

"Well, fuck, do what you’re good at, then. We both know that you can do better. That’s why you’re here and not some other slag." 

You ignored his last words. Instead, you counted to three in your head and took a deep breath to collect yourself back up. 

"I’m doing my best, Chippy. This shit is gonna take time if we want it to end well, you said so yourself." 

"Yeah, if you at least brought some results. Like, damn. I thought I hired you-” you didn’t even let Chippy finish his sentence. 

“You didn’t hire me, though,” you intermitted. 

“Yeah, and good I didn’t cause it would be a waste of fucking money." 

All you responded with, was a groan as you turned around, so Chippy faced your back. 

You could hear his heavy footsteps approach you, and his hands reach to your waist. Before he could grab you, you pushed them away. You held his palms. They were clammy as always. 

"Look, babe,” he spoke with a calmer tone now, almost sweet. As if he had never insulted you in his life. He pulled his hand out of your grip to place it on your cheek, making you look at him. “I know you can do better. So why don’t you move that pretty ass of yours and do it? Make him pay for all the shit he has done, what he’s done to _you_. To us. " 

The words echoed in your head. They repeated themself over and over and over again. 

"Don’t… don’t talk to me like that,” you whispered. Your eyes went blank as you nudged your knife into his side. Not too far to hurt him. To make him wince and back off. 

“Right, sorry.” He stepped away. His eyes were now glued to the knife in your trembling hand. You tried to control it, but it was hard when your breathing was so shaky. You hated this—this feeling of no control. 

Frustrated, you flicked the blade back into its holder and put it in your pocket. 

“Just give me results, got it?” Chippy said, heading to the couch. You were going to slap him back with a comment, but your phone started to buzz. It was the Holland company phone. Even on your day off, you knew to pick it up quickly.

“Mr Holland?” you asked, unsure. In the two weeks you had worked for him; this was the first time he had ever called you. Before it was only his brothers or Harrison. God, Harrison. He was only acting more and more strangely around you. It was for sure that he suspected you of something. 

“y/n? Good evening.” He sounded chipper. “I was hoping you could meet me in the city." 

"Of course, sir. Where?” you asked. He gave you an address and hung up almost immediately after. You didn’t expect anything else. You recognised the street but had no idea what was there. 

Without a word to Chippy, you opened the door and made your way out of the club. It was busy, like any night. People were rubbing their sweaty bodies all over each other—their intoxicated blood pumping through their veins to the beat of the music. The adrenaline rush making it better than any watered-down drink they could buy in this shithole. You knew it all too well. After all, this used to be you. Partying all night, every night. No care in the world to who you were with or what you were taking. As long as it had the right kick to it, you were splendid, and if you couldn’t remember it, then it was just for the better. 

The club room was like a large pit with the offices above it, connected with a bridge-like hallway. It was Chippy’s idea, the architectural genius. His way of saying that he was above it all. He was the big man in charge, the boss. The man that made it all work. Or that was what he wanted people to think. 

Sure, if you looked down, you saw hundreds of people crammed together like pigs for slaughter. But one closer look and you could see who they were. There was Brody… and JJ… and Sunny… you couldn’t find him, but you knew Turner was somewhere around. They were all out there, just like you used to be, filling up the stage. Getting people riled up. From time to time, they’d talk to someone. Maybe they looked tired, or not really into the music as much as the rest. So they’d suggest a little something… to get them going again.

It all made you sick. It made you sick as to how you could let this happen. But you didn’t have time to dwell. You agreed to meet Tom, and he didn’t like to wait. 

You practically ran out of the club, out into the fresh night air. As usual, there were barely any stars above your head. The moon was shining through the thin sheets of clouds. It was a warm night, so the wind sure did you good. People were outside, smoking cigarettes and whatnot, giggling and talking incoherently, barely standing up on their legs. You walked past them and shuffled into your car. Like always, when you were alone, you locked the doors the second you were inside. 

You started the car and typed in the address you were given into the navigation. The automatic voice told you it was a mere 10-minute drive. Thankfully it was late, so there were no other cars whatsoever filling up the streets. As you passed under the street lights, you stole a glance at your rearview mirror. At least you looked presentable. Hair up in a tight ponytail, minimum makeup, you had black jeans on and a button-up t-shirt. It was hot in the room with Chippy, so you did not need a jacket. 

Just like the GPS has predicted, you arrived at your destination quickly. There was no parking available nearby, so you had to drive up a block or so away and walk the distance. 

The address belonged to a gentleman’s tailor shop. It had no name, which was a bit strange but nearly not strange enough to make your top 10. The door was heavy and fancy. For sure, no cheap wood. The gold decorations faded but still shining in the light coming from inside. It was a warm and welcoming light but what you could see from the window told everything but that. Stacks and shelves full of expensive material filled the room, telling everyone who couldn’t afford it, to not even bother stepping inside. Of course, this would be the place for Holland to get his suits. You didn’t expect anything else. 

You pushed the door open and immediately smelled the heavy scent of cigars. A young man was sitting at a desk, writing. He looked up, greeting you with a welcoming smile. 

“Mr Holland is waiting for you in measuring room 1." 

"Uhm, thank you.” You had no idea which of the rooms was number one since there were no signs, but before you could ask, Tom himself stepped out into the hallway. 

“Ah, great. Thank you for coming so fast.”

“Of course, Mr Holland.” You followed him into the room. Comparatively to the rest of the building, it was a small space, but the significantly large three-panel mirror gave it an enlarging illusion. Right in front of it was a small round platform for Tom to stand on. The tailor, an older man, was standing in the corner. Seeing him prepare all his measuring tools, you could only assume they had not started yet. 

“I’ve only been here shortly, myself. You’re right on time.” Tom said. He was wearing a leisurely looking black jacket, with trousers to match, and a grey shirt underneath it. It was casual. He pointed at the chair that was next to the mirrors. 

“Please, sit." 

You thanked him as you took your seat, still unsure as to what your purpose in this room was. The tailor walked up to Tom with a charming smile. He looked familiar. But of course, you had seen his features just seconds ago. Only, they were less defined. It must have been his son that you had spoken to at the desk—no denying it. They were the same strikingly green eyes. 

"Now, I know it’s supposed to be your day off,” Tom started to speak as he let his jacket slip off his shoulders, “and I do apologise, but I needed a second pair of eyes." 

"I understand-” you cut yourself off as you watched him. A part of you felt wrong for looking at him like that, but he was gorgeous. It wasn’t visible in the jackets but now that he was only wearing a simple t-shirt… his shoulders were broad, arms toned. You could see a hint of a tattoo escaping under the hem of the short sleeve. Next to it, scars. And a lot of them too. They were all different shapes and sizes, but most of them looked like cuts. But just thinking about the angle, there was no possibility they had been self-inflicted. 

“So, uhum,” you cleared your throat, “what do you need me for, sir?" 

"Right, so my good friend Waldorf here, he has some great designs for me,” Tom patted the man on his shoulders, resulting in a humble smile. “And I need to pick one for tomorrow’s event." 

"Right, yes. Tomorrow.” How could you have forgotten? Tomorrow was the Affluent Fund Banquet. A ball and dinner for all of the rich of the city. The place to gather and show off how much money you “reportedly” donated to whatever charity would sound good. Everyone knew it was all a facade. Of course, some may give money, but it was never the amount stated. It was, like everything around here, one big fat lie. 

And as Mr Tom Holland’s assistant, you had been involved in everything about this. From the food, to the transport, to make sure he didn’t have to stay there a second longer than needed. And now, apparently, also the apparel. His only job was to get a date, but obviously, that would be no problem. 

“Let’s get started then, shall we?” Waldorf clapped his hands before pointing to the platform. Tom skipped over to it, seeming very excited for what’s next to come. From this position, you could see his profile excellently. Besides his tight jawline, there was nothing to notice about it, except maybe that his nose… it seemed to have been broken some time ago. You couldn’t tell if it was an injury from his youth or some recent engagement. 

The next minutes you spent in silence. No one spoke as Waldorf handed Tom his jacket. It was black, but the material had a golden thread in it. Only visible at certain angles. It looked beautiful. He looked beautiful. Forget the slightly wrong fit. That was easily fixable. He looked handsome as hell—something in you twitched. You had to cross your legs to stop it. Tom, in the meantime, was looking at his reflection from several angles, doing different poses. First, as he brushed through his hair, next with the same hand in his trouser pocket- he went on and on, repeating some. 

“I don’t think you like it that much, do you, sir?” you questioned him finally. He responded with a smirk before saying: 

“What makes you think that?" 

"Well, you’ve been furrowing your brows any time you look in the right mirror, so something must be bugging you from that angle, and in the two weeks I have worked for you, with the small exception of the hallways in the office, I have not seen a speck of gold in your life, so I assume you’re more of a silver guy." 

"Impressive deduction… and you’re sure you never worked for the police?" 

_If you only knew how far off you are_. "I would never,” you smiled. That was a sufficient answer for him cause moments later, Tom took the jacket off and waited for Waldorf to bring the second one. This piece was a deep midnight blue. Like in anything, he looked good, but something felt off. 

“Shouldn’t you wear the full suit to see if it fits, sir?" 

"You would think so- what do you think of the colour?” He turned ninety degrees to face you. With Holland standing on the platform, and with you still being seated, put you at an angle that made you uncomfortable. Not to mention, it was a horrible position to look at him. So, you got up. 

“Well, it does wash you out a bit, sir.” you gave him another good look. “I would go with a warmer colour." 

"Ah yes, of course!” It was Waldorf that chimed into the discussion. “I got just the thing then.” and with that, the man disappeared behind a vintage divider. From behind there, a sound erupted. Like the squeaking of metal against metal, but it was met with shuffling of material. Garment bags. How many suits has he got back there? How many would ever even see the light of day… or in this case… the darkness of the evening. 

The Waldorf then popped up into your view but didn’t walk back to where you and Tom were standing. 

“Sir?” he instead pointed to Tom the way to behind the divider, for him to change in the complete suit set. So, as Tom made his way over to there, you sat back down, since you weren’t sure what else to do. 

You expected another period of silence, but then Tom spoke up. 

“Do you mind me asking where I snatched you from tonight?” His voice sounded muffled from the T-shirt he was pulling up over his head. 

“Not at all, I was just at home.” You answered casually, leaning forward slightly.

“Always playing music so loudly at home then?" 

"I don’t understand sir?” Of course, you understood what he meant. Very well, even. He must have heard the music from the club as you were on the phone. You just didn’t know how to respond. So you went with your usual tactic. Questioning has always been the perfect way of getting more time when needed, even if it was only a few seconds. 

“The music. I could hear loud music coming from your end when we were calling.” He explained himself. 

“Oh, yes. That was just the neighbours. Birthday party. Nothing unusual.” That wouldn’t even be a big lie. Your neighbours did tend to host a lot of parties. And most of them did end up being interrupted by a police officer or two knocking on the door after a noise complaint. 

“That must be very annoying. Such noisy neighbours.” He asked, but he sounded… detached, as if in thought. 

“You get used to it, I assume.” There came no reply. It also didn’t sound like he was moving around back there. “Everything alright, sir?" 

"Hmm? Yes. Yes.” Before you could ask to make sure he appeared from behind the dividers. For wearing an expensive suit, he was swift to change into it. It must be the advantage of having no zippers on the back. 

He walked out and up to you. Slowly, as always with his hand in his pocket. It was something to make himself feel more confident, since otherwise, he wouldn’t know what to do with it, but boy did he look good doing that. So _suave_. 

“What do we think?” He said with an indisputable smirk. You gave him a good long look, this time with a reason. The suit that Waldorf gave him was nothing but exquisite. It was this dark, deep red. The colour that could make you think of nothing but blood. As he moved around, it even looked like the fabric was flowing around him. It fit him meticulously, or so it seemed at least. 

“It looks great.” You said, but your voice sounded weak, like a whisper. “But I think you should go for a black shirt under it. Not white. 

"Thank you." 

You just nodded in response. You watched Tom watch himself in the mirror. He seemed to agree with you on everything this evening. There was no need for consultation or debate. There was no reason for you to be here picking out his clothes, especially since he had them all picked out himself before. 

"Sir?” you asked softly. He moved his chin up, indicating listening. “Why am I here?" 

"I value your opinion greatly, y/n." 

"Fashion advice from a girl?” you challenged him. You just hoped that he could read your expression to see it was meant in all good fun.

“More because I think you have better taste than anyone at my office,” he snickered. “Besides, you’re a good company to have around.”

_Fair enough._

“Speaking of company… I was meaning to ask you- Do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?" 

You furrowed your brows. _Tomorrow?_ "Uhm. Besides finishing up some paperwork at the office, nothing. But tomorrow’s the banquet-”

“Exactly. I was wondering if you would like to join me.” He was still looking at his reflection. Most specifically at his neck. His hand went up to the collar of his shirt as if to adjust an invisible tie. 

“I don’t-” you were baffled. You were sure he would have found some gorgeous model as arm candy for the next evening. 

“What kind of tie do you think will go with this?" 

Still a bit dazed, you answered: "No tie. Just undo the first button." 

With his head slightly tilted, not expecting that answer, he did just that. What followed was an expression of surprised, unexpected, fondness and a small "huh”. Then he looked at you. 

“So? Will you go with me?" 

"I don’t think it’s in my contract to be a date?” you joked, already thinking of what to wear. Or, more realistically, what to buy since you owned nothing that would be considered acceptable at such an event. 

Fortunately, he smiled bemusedly. 

“Then consider it a side job." 


	5. Don't Cry Over Spilt Merlot

The night was humid. It was warm outside, but almost immediately after you stepped out through the door, a small breeze passed by, making goosebumps form on your bare leg. The slit in your black dress reached a bit too high for your liking, but there was not much you could do, especially now as you were walking up to the car. 

A man you had not seen before, but could assume was the driver, was standing next to the passengers’ door. As you approached, he opened it with a slight bow and a smile. You thanked him before stepping inside. There, in his red suit, Tom was sitting waiting for you. 

“Well, hello,” you said before sitting down next to him. It was much closer than you would have ever expected, but you mentioned nothing of it. 

Yes, it was all courteous and friendly between you at first sight, but that didn’t make you want to surrender. Your plan, your mission, was still in full tact. 

You saw right through him and his perfect illusion. You still understood that he was nothing but a self-righteous asshole. These fancy banquets and whatnots were all a trick to hide the fact that back home, he would spend his free time ridding himself and his family of the blood he spilt… No, he wouldn’t do that… he got a dozen maids to do it for him. 

To top it off, he was what you hated the most in men. He was a dirty player. You wouldn’t even be surprised if at the end of the night he would try to get you into his bed… or some empty room at the least. His gorgeous looks were surely a huge asset, but you were sure even without that, the money or even the fear he brought out in people would be enough to get him anything and anyone he wanted. 

This is what you had to keep in mind at all times.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Tom spoke in a silky tone. In his hands, you noticed two cold glasses of champagne. His eyes had been glued to you, but quickly he remembered the drinks and handed you your glass. You took a small sip, not having big intentions to drink, but Tom poured all the contents of the glass in his mouth, swallowing it without problem, not spilling a single drop on the corners of his mouth. Still, he wiped them off with his thumb and index finger, as if a reflex. 

Not even a minute later, Tom bent down to grab the iced bottle to pour some more champagne for himself. This time, he drank slower. 

“Would you mind me asking why I’m here, sir?” you asked after some time. Tom’s second glass was already three-quarters empty. 

“I think we can hold up with the formalities for tonight, don’t you?” he smiled, putting the glass once again against his lips. Something in you, call it a gut feeling if you’d like, told you he had more to drink before your arrival. Not that his speech was slurred or anything like that, but he just seemed so much more relaxed. 

“And to answer your question, I’m tired.” He sighed. 

“Excuse me?" 

"I was tired, and I didn’t want to go out and look for a date. You were…" 

"Easy?” you raised a brow, irritation bubbling up in your stomach. 

“Your words, not mine, love." 

You chugged down the last sips of your champagne. It tasted unusually bitter. "So what words would you use, then?" 

He looked out the tinted window before answering. In that moment you glanced out your own, there was not much to see. On the highway, all that was visible were flashes of lights. 

"I’d say,” he continued, “already perfect." 

You had no answer to that. 

"Yes, you look gorgeous, but that’s what the audience needs more than I do. You are brilliant, y/n. I truly do enjoy your company." 

"Thank you, si- _Tom_.” You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and you hated it. Thankfully, your champagne glass was still cool. You couldn’t do much with it, just place it gently against your bottom lip for a second. Then, moved it slightly, so the cold glass reached the corner of your mouth, almost your heated cheek. It didn’t do much, but enough. Most importantly, it distracted you from what was happening.

You could tell _something_ was going on. Tom had a plan; you were sure of it. When you looked at him, you saw the cogs and gears in his head working, and you didn’t like it one bit. 

“But I do apologise.” Suddenly, as if he knew what you were thinking, he stared into your eyes. “I know how tiresome these things can be, not to mention boring. I would have understood if you hadn’t come.”

“I could have said no?” you said, a bit too quick, shocking yourself. There was an awkward break of silence, but then Tom smiled. It was… cute. At least something about it was. 

“Of course. You would have put me in a tight spot there, but you always have the right to object. You’re an assistant, not a _slave_." 

His words made you think. Think about the time when you felt like you had no choice. It was years ago, and since then, you got better. You had gotten a grip on life. Since then, you tried to pretend like those things had never happened, but it still haunted you. 

"Are you alright?” Tom placed his hand on yours, but when he saw your jumpy reaction, he quickly pulled away. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” You shook your head. “How about another drink?” You suggested with a smile that never quite reached your eyes. He didn’t notice it, though. Or at least pretended to. He grabbed the second bottle of champagne and filled your glass to the brim. With those memories still flooding through your head, you felt parched. So, after clinking glasses, you chugged down your drink just like Tom had previously. 

The power of alcohol never seemed to disappoint you as soon all those bad feelings vanished. You quickly felt at peace again. It was the right timing, too, because the car had gone off the highway and was reaching the banquet hall. 

The building was one of those at the top of a large staircase, with large gallery windows that you saw nothing out of except light. The stairs were splitting the sea of flashing cameras like Moses. 

The car halted, and a few seconds later, the door at your side was open. Only then, did you realise how soundproof the vehicle was, it was a mass hysteria out there. You grabbed the hand of whoever it was offering their own and stepped out of the car. It was strange, to say the least, none of these people knew who you were, but since you were the one stepping out of the expensive vehicle, they needed all the photographs. 

Tom emerged at your side. You could feel his arm slip around your waist, guiding you up the stairs. He kept his touch light and didn’t move his hand anywhere. 

There were quite a few steps that you had to walk up to get to the entrance. At a certain point, it felt as if you were on the wrong escalator, walking but not moving. 

Finally you neared the entrance, a tall door frame, with light shining from the inside like golden rays of sun. Inside you could already see the other guests in their gowns and suits sipping on their drinks. Most of them were in conversations, laughing with their entire bodies to compensate for their actual humour… or better said, their lack of it. 

“Mr. Holland,” a man bowed his head down as you and Tom neared him. Tom said something, but you weren’t listening, too occupied by looking at everything around you. Or, to be more precise, _everyone_.

“Follow me,” the man added on, and so you did. He led you to a table right in front of the podium. Centrally lined up, it had a clear view of everything around you. The two of you were the last to arrive, and at that moment you realised what the real reason why Tom had invited you instead of some model was. 

“Thomas,” a man looked at Tom with distaste, “glad to see you could _finally_ make it.” You glanced at the watch on Tom’s wrist to see that you were barely five minutes late of the time that was set on the invitation. 

“Father, always a pleasure.” Tom grabbed a chair and pulled it out for you before sitting in his own. You expected the conversation between them to continue, but nothing of it happened. Instead, a waiter with a small portable bar came up and asked the table for its drinks. 

“I’ll have a glass of Merlot, thanks,” Tom said. When it was your turn to order, you just went for the same. You were a drinker, but as far as banquets go, you had no idea what would be considered an acceptable choice. Not much later, you were spinning the dark wine lightly around in your glass as you waited for the banquet to formally begin. 

You looked over at Tom. At first glance, he looked rather calm, but you saw the way his napkin was a scrunched up mess in his fist. His jaw seemed tighter than usual. And his eyes- they consistently kept switching between his father and over into the distance at some other tables. You tried to figure out who it was he was looking at, but before you could, someone spoke up at the table. 

“Son,” it was his mother, “don’t be rude, introduce us,” she said but only smiled when she looked at you. The smile made you feel like it was all a bit of an afterthought. 

“Right,” Tom cleared his throat and put down the, by now mutilated, napkin on his lap. “y/n, these are my parents… Mother, father, this is y/n." 

"y/n… ah, screwing the secretary, are we again, son?" 

Mrs. Holland slapped her husband on the shoulder. An awkward silence fell around the table. All Tom did was pay attention to his napkin. He reminded you of your family gatherings when you were younger. When your aunt would yell at your cousin, and he would spend the rest of the night in the corner of the room. That was what Tom looked like now. Like a defeated child. 

After some more time, you realised no one was going to speak up, so you decided to do it yourself. 

"I think you’ll find yourself to be mistaken, sir. See, I’m not a secretary.” You gave the man the sweetest of smiles you could manufacture. In the corner of your eye, you saw Tom simper. “And I can assure you that nothing is going on between your son and me." 

There came no response. Even if Mr. Holland had decided to, he would have been spoken over by the start of the ceremony. A slightly heavier set man walked up the podium. His thick moustache covered half of his face, so the only indication of a smile were the small wrinkles beneath his eyes. 

"Welcome,” his voice bellowed. You were sure he could have been heard on the other side of the room even without the microphone. For the next five minutes, you had lost your focus. You clapped when you heard clapping around you, but for the rest you had concentrated on how one of the impressive chandeliers had a light that was malfunctioning. 

There was a final round of applause, and then the first meal course was brought to the table. You couldn’t exactly tell what it was, but it seemed to be some kind of deconstructed salad. You took your smallest fork and started to eat. At that moment, you could feel your purse vibrate. You decided to ignore it. The small salad was occupying your mind. Might have been an effect on how you had not eaten anything since breakfast. 

For the rest of the dinner, the table stayed quiet. No one spoke or even looked at each other. You kept your focus on your meal, but throughout, you could not stop thinking about the constant buzzing your phone was making. 

Only after the dessert was finished did you decide to check what it was that filled up your notifications. You had already suspected something but just to be sure- just like you thought. The first thing that popped up on your screen were text messages from Chippy. Next were a few missed phone calls. You rolled your eyes but knew you had to answer soon or he would raid your house… again. 

“Excuse me,” you said softly before getting up. No one but Tom looked up, who gave you a questioning look. You told him you just had to go to check up on your make-up quickly before walking off to the toilets. 

There were multiple bathrooms in the building, but you chose one that was furthest away from the banquet hall, hoping that no one would think to go here. Before calling Chippy, however, you made sure to check if all the stalls were unoccupied. 

He answered after one ring. 

“Where the _fock_ are you?” he hissed. 

“I’m with Tom, would you calm down?” you said, your eyes always glued to the door, waiting for someone to walk in. 

“With To- why the hell are you with him right now?” His tone completely changed. You couldn’t accurately place it, but the anger was replaced by something. It almost felt like jealousy. 

“It’s a long story, Chip. What do you want?" 

"It’s packed out here. I need you to-” Before Chippy could even tell you what he needed you for, you stopped him. 

“I can’t, Chip. I’m already working- You know, that job that you made me take." 

"Don’t smart-mouth me,” he said, making you roll your eyes once again. 

“Chippy.” You let out a sigh of defeat. It was becoming tiring to talk to him. First the fight from last night, now this.

“No, don’t do that.” He _tsked_ at you. “I thought you would be the best for the job and I thought I could trust you-" 

"You can trust me,” you said, not liking where this was going. 

“Yeah? So why the fuck you hanging out with _Tommy_ ,” he mocked you, with not great result since you had never called him that. 

“I’m not." 

"Don’t lie to me. You just said it,” he spat out. He did that quite a lot, you seemed to notice, and it was annoying the piss out of you. 

“I _said_ I was with him. Yes. Because he asked me to go with him to _the_ Affluent Fund Banquet. You know, the one that you could never seem to get invited to. So now, let me let you go back to your poker game or whatever you’re loosing while I try to do a job.”

“Maybe so, but you’re off your game, and you know it, babes. I worry about you.” Chippy started to use that fake voice of his that you hated. He thought he had mastered Genuity, but truthfully, he still had a long way to go even to sound like he gave a damn about anything, certainly you. 

“You know I’m doing my best and if it had been that easy, we didn’t even have to do all of this crap in the first place. I got this under control." 

"You better,” he said.

With a groan, since it was all you had the energy to muster, you ended the call. 

Why was this happening? You lied to Chippy, because this _was_ supposed to be easy. So fucking easy. All you had to do was get on Holland’s right side and find intel on a deal or on _anything_ shady that could get him in jail. Something to get him off of that high horse of his. Yet, there was nothing you had been able to find. 

The last two weeks you were told to spend in the archives. It was assigned to you by Tom. You read through every dusty file, and there was nothing. So, of course, Chippy was getting frustrated. You were too. Because you knew you had to go deeper down the rabbit hole. There was something they were hiding. You just had to know where. It would take time, though- time that you most likely did not have. Two weeks and Chippy was already on your back. You could imagine what would happen after a month. A year? 

You got chills at the thought of having to spend a year at Holland Enterprise. 

Although… you were getting paid well… and not even for doing that much… not to mention-

_What were you thinking?_

You splashed some cold water on yourself, just enough, not to mess up your makeup. That’s what you thought at least. Your lipstick had still come off a bit. You reapplied it and looked at yourself a bit longer in the mirror. 

There was no joy on your face, but that could be fixed with a simple smile. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before deciding it was time to head back into the lion’s den. 

You walked out the door of the bathroom and were immediately met with a body. You weren’t sure what it was, but an instinct in you blew up and, along with a small shriek, your fist quickly met with their jaw. So quick that your brain couldn’t even have processed the fact that it was, in fact, your boss, who you had just hit. 

“Oh, god.” You stepped aside, shocked at your action as Tom looked stunned. His hand went up to his jaw while trying to massage out the sore spot. You had not held back. 

“I’m so _so_ sorry,” you apologised. Tom was still a bit stunned and in pain but smiled through it. 

“It’s alright, I’ve had worse,” he joked, but you knew he was telling the truth. He rubbed his jaw lightly. “Besides, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been standing so close to the door." 

"No, I-” Then you thought about it. “What _were_ you doing next to the women’s bathroom?” You were still looking at his jaw. It didn’t seem to be broken. That was something. 

“Looking for you.” There was something very juvenile and innocent about the way he smiled at you. “You were gone for quite some time. I was starting to get worried." 

"Now I feel really bad.” You laughed awkwardly. You did feel bad, but you could not hide the fact within you that a part of you felt good after hitting him. Why, you weren’t sure, but it just did. You quickly shook that feeling back to the pit of your stomach and put up a concerned smile. 

“Well,” Tom cleared his throat, “I’m glad you’re okay.” The next second felt like he didn’t know what to do or say. 

“Shall we head back?” you suggested. He seemed to be confused as to what you meant, so you added, “to the banquet?" 

"Right, of course.” He shook his head before bringing out his arm for you to grab on to. You did and walked along Tom to the big hall. Almost instantly, you could feel the eyes of everyone around you once you walked back in. 

Ignoring everyone’s stares, Tom whispered, “Care to dance?" 

"Of course, let me just put my purse back at the table,” you said and walked off once again, but you could tell that Tom followed you. You turned around and gave him a confused look. 

“I can’t have you wandering off the whole night. What kind of boss would I be." 

"I thought we were holding off with formalities for the night, Mr. Holland,” you smiled.

“Yes, but I didn’t think a _date_ would be appropriate either yet.” He said it so casually, but it didn’t stop you from freezing up inside. What the hell did he mean with “yet”? Before your mind started to make unreal conjectures, you shook it off and decided to take in your surroundings. 

You made sure to look around at everyone on your way to the table. You recognised some people since they were big names in the corporate world. 

You were just walking by Maximillian Jones, the CEO of TexiCorp, when you noticed he was talking to (along with others) Mr. Holland senior himself. You knew that TexiCorp and Holland Enterprise for what it was worth when it came to the industry of… that one chemical that you should remember the name of- yet the two men chatted like they were the best of friends. Their conversation had been muffled but turned up in volume when you and Tom walked by. 

“Max, I tell you, I didn’t know what to do with this boy. I mean, who knows where he would have ended up if it wasn’t for the company or me.” He laughed out loud, and the men around him sniggered too. It was at that moment that he so-called noticed his son. Of course, you could tell that he knew very well he was there already. 

“Ah, there he is! The big man.” He pulled Tom by his sleeve to the group of men, and you could see how something changed in him. He slacked down his shoulders, making himself look smaller than all of them. 

“Hello, father.“ Tom put on a miserable smile as he said it. 

"Tell me, what are your big plans for the company, son? Not going to screw it up, are you?” Mr. Holland dug into Tom’s arm with his fingers. He was holding a glass of whiskey in that same hand. So, with every move, he spilt some over his hand and the floor. 

He was visibly drunk. 

Tom had no response for his father’s harsh words. He stood there, in his grip, looking for a way out. Though from a quick look on his face, you saw the anger building up. He kept quiet while his father kept on laughing in his face. 

Was this really the notorious Tom Holland that Chippy was so afraid of? Was he really supposed to be the enormous threat of the Noirs? It made you doubtful. 

But mob boss or not, you couldn’t stand looking at what was happening in front of you. So, you pushed your way through the wall of corporate assholes and spoke up. 

“Uhm, Mr. Holland.” Both of them looked up at you, so you specified, “Tom.”

“Yes, y/n?” he looked hopeful. 

“I just got a call from the office. Harrison said they need you there. _Now_.” With emphasis on the last word, you made sure everybody understood the urgency. 

“Of course,” Tom slipped away from his father’s grip and without another word walked away. You let Tom walk by you through the crowd so you could see the look on Mr. Holland’s face. Very much intoxicated, he had a hint of shock in his eyes. Could it be because he was impressed or maybe because he had not expected you to interrupt him, you’d never find out because, with a nod and a smile, you said, “Good night, gentlemen,” and made your way to the exit. 

Once you caught up to Tom once again, you saw everyone’s eyes on you. Had they all heard his father’s comment before dinner? After all, he had said it quite loudly. You also wouldn’t be surprised if it had turned out that he talked about you to his buddies when you were gone. 

“Thank you,” Tom said as you exited the building, his hand finding its way back to your waist. 

“Don’t mention it,” you whispered back. 

You don’t know how, but the car was already waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. The same driver stepped out and opened the door for you. A part of you expected Tom to get in first, but to your (and the driver’s) surprise, he walked around to the other door. 

“That was a disaster, wouldn’t you say?” he said, looking straight ahead of himself. There was not much to see but the top of the seat in front of him. Still, his eyes were solemnly focused on that. However, it was when you passed the street lights outside, when the orange light came over you, that you saw that they weren’t focused at all. He was stuck in a daze of sorts. 

“I wouldn’t say disaster. Uhm,” you searched for the right word, “perhaps… ”

“Please, don’t.” He put his hand up, signalling his words to you. The playfulness from just a few minutes ago was completely gone now. He seemed cold, and you understood why. 

It was not a reach when you assumed that the way his father treated him tonight was not the first time. This must have been a mere example of what Tom had to go through his whole life. That was the thing with legacies and empires, wasn’t it? You had that weight on your shoulders to live up to the expectations and exceed them. 

That must have been what his entire childhood felt like. Feeling that constant pressure on him just to be put down…

The ride to the office felt like it took ages. Maybe it was the silence that elongated it; perhaps it was the effect of what had taken place at the banquet, whatever it was, you were happy when the car went through the gates and pulled over in front of the office. A part of you, however, had also been a bit disappointed. You had expected that Tom would want to be taken home, not to the office. You were curious to see how the great Tom Holland lived, or at least where. 

“Marcus can take you home,” he was already taking off his seatbelt, “unless you’d care for a drink?" 

"Sure, why not?” You shrugged. Hell knows you could use another one after everything that happened at the banquet. So, you too got out of the car. Together you walked inside, through the red hallway, up the stairs, to his office. 

Or so you thought. Instead of walking into his office, Tom opened another door. 

The room you walked into seemed to be a little bar, complete with the high countertop and chairs, ice dispenser and grand collection of liquor. While you sat down on one of the chairs and placed your purse on the table, Tom made his way behind the counter. He took off his jacket, throwing it over the bar on another empty seat. Tom rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. In this black attire, he almost reminded you of all the bartenders you had met throughout the years. The look was complete with the little cocky smile he gave you. 

“I don’t recommend drinking at work,” he said, already pulling two glasses from beneath the bar. “This was Harrison’s idea, but you know, I have to hand it to him, it is brilliant.”

You wanted to ask him about Harrison, but right then Tom turned around to look at the drink options before pulling down a bottle of what you recognised to be some pretty expensive scotch. 

“It’s no Merlot.” He shrugged. 

“It’s better.” You smiled. He seemed surprised at your preference. He poured some of the golden liquid in both glasses, passing one to you. Unplanned, both of you chugged down the bitter drink in one sip, putting the glasses back down almost simultaneously. You smiled, but Tom didn’t even notice. He was already busy refilling his glass. With two fingers you pushed your glass towards him, indicating you’d like a refill too. He looked up at you, once again, surprised and impressed. 

He refilled your glass and this time you took a smaller sip, enjoying the flavour of it. Not Tom, he repeated his action. When he saw you had not mirrored him, he seemed disappointed. 

“I thought we had a thing going on here,” he pointed at the drink in your hand. You took another sip. 

“We both needed a drink, but I think you more-” You didn’t finish your sentence, feeling how it might come off. Tom leaned against the bar top and laughed, looking into his glass. 

“It wasn’t exactly the best way to show myself as the boss." 

"You’re not to blame, though,” you said, taking another sip. He raised an eyebrow at your statement. 

“I mean, your father is, and pardon my french, kind of a dick.” You were sure that, was it not for the alcohol, you would have never said that to your boss. Let alone Tom Holland. There was a second of silence that terrified you… then he laughed. 

“You’re not wrong.” He looked at his empty glass. You took that time to finish your drink.

“He’s been like that ever since I can remember,” he spoke as he poured in more scotch. You listened to him, with your elbow on the countertop, chin on hand. 

Not sure what to reply with, you said: “You know, usually it’s the other way around." 

"What do you mean?” He turned his head just like a confused puppy which made you giggle. 

“Well, usually it’s the person on this side drinking that talks and the bartender is the listener, right?" 

"We can switch if you want,” he suggested. 

“I’m good.” You placed the glass once again up to your lips. “Continue." 

"What else is there to say? My own father doesn’t believe in me.” This time he drank his drink slower. You counted that as progress. He leaned forward, coming closer to you. He looked utterly defeated. 

“But you’re going to do something about that, aren’t you?” You poked him in the arm lightly, making him look up at you. He didn’t seem to understand what you meant. 

“I mean, you have some grand plan for the company, don’t you? Because I can tell.” Yeah, the alcohol was kicking in. 

“I have some plans, but they are nowhere ready.” He swirled the drink in the glass. You knew that was no way to drink scotch so he must be doing it mindlessly, his mind occupied with something more significant. 

“Well, you’re a brilliant man. I’m sure it will work out.” It might have been the alcohol talking because you were sure you would have never said this to Tom Holland when sober. Then again, they don’t say “drunk words are sober thoughts” without reason. Of course, you could not lie. Tom was brilliant. It was just a pity that his brilliance had to be used for pleasing his father and the company. 

“You think so?” He smiled so honestly at your comment, something in your stomach turned. He leaned forward on his arms, and you did as well. 

“Yes.” You nodded extravagantly. Again, you were sure that you would not be doing _any_ of this if you had not been drinking prior. You would never even think about leaning so close to him. You could see him open his mouth, possibly even say something, but nothing got processed. All you could think about was how good he looked. 

You looked him deep in the eyes. That’s how you knew that he was looking at your lips. He leaned in. You could smell the scotch. It wasn’t preferable, but you didn’t care at this point. You were so close. You closed your eyes, but only for such a brief moment, it might as well have been a blink. Suddenly it got to you what you were doing. You pulled back. 

“I uhm- I should go.” You got off your chair. As if a switch turned back on, Tom quickly pulled back. His eyes avoided you. 

“Right, of course. It’s late, and we should both- Anyway. Good night, and don’t worry about coming in tomorrow. Take the day off.” He stumbled out. 

“Thank you, Mr. Holland.” You smiled, but he didn’t see it. His interest fell on the two glasses which he took and put into the small sink behind him. You could hear the water run as you walked out. You made your way down to the garage. Then a little panic set in you. You had just drank a half bottle of scotch, not to mention whatever you had before you arrived here. There was no way you could drive. 

“Going home, miss?” It was Marcus. 

“Yes! Could you-” You didn’t even have to ask. He opened the car door for you, and you sat down. Only then did you notice how warm it had been in the bar room. The air conditioning of the car turned on together with the engine. Then, you felt the cold fresh air blow against your bare and burning arms and face. 

The garage door opened and you were on your way- or so you thought. 

The car had not even reached the gate yet when you realised you forgot something. 

“Stop the car!” you said, probably a bit too loud. The driver stepped on the break, shooting you forward. The seatbelt harshly stopped you from hitting the back of the driver’s seat, though it did leave a bit of a burn at your neck.

“Everything alright, miss?” the man asked, clearly concerned.

“Yes, I just forgot my purse. I’m so sorry.” You were already unbuckling the seatbelt. The driver suggested to go pick it up, so you didn’t have to go outside, but you protested. 

“It’s alright. I’ll be back in a minute.” You got out before he could say anything else. Of course you appreciated his gesture, but there was no way in hell you were letting him pick it up. The thought of Tom being alone and the phone possibly going off… you didn’t even want to think about it. Not that that made your mind stop. You could already imagine Tom, a bit unsure if he should do it, taking it out of your purse. He would read Chippy’s contact, maybe not recognising it immediately. He’d answer, about to say that you weren’t here until he heard Chippy and everything would unravel. How could you be so stupid, leaving it behind? 

These thoughts haunted you all the way walking back inside, up the stairs, through the corridors. You knocked on the door, no answer. You tapped again, already pushing the door open slightly. With no response, you dared to look inside. The room was empty. A sigh of relief hit you as you saw your purse still on the corner of the table, seemingly untouched. 

With a quick step, you picked it up, checked if everything was inside (it was!) and made your way out. It was at that moment that you heard it. 

Just like on your first day, it was the same echoing explosion. Over and over again. Gunshots. This time, of course, you knew where they were coming from. Against your instincts, once again, you made your way to the makeshift gun range. 

Unlike with Harrison, the door was wide open. Of course, Tom expected the whole building to be empty. Besides, no one in their right mind would walk up to the range and gawk at the boss practising. You, of course, weren’t in your right mind. 

You watched him shoot the gun again and again and again. Not a single flinch came from him at the sound of the shots. His hand was steady, not moving an inch as the weapon fired its rounds until it didn’t anymore. He had emptied the whole magazine, but he kept on pulling the trigger. You took that moment to look at the target outside, just to see it almost have a gaping whole from the countless bullet holes in its middle. 

After realising what happened, in such quick moves you could barely see what happened, he unloaded it and grabbed a second one from his back pocket. It clicked into the gun. For the next second, he didn’t move. Tom just looked at the handgun…

He just looked before taking a step forward and taking his shot. Bang, it went straight into the head, right between the dummies eyes. He took another step and shot again, repeating this a few more times. 

Now, you had seen your fair share of agitated people taking out their frustrations in this way. But usually, it was two-three shots into a window or vase, not 20 straight into a perfectly aimed target without a single hitch in the body as the shots were fired. 

It was at that exact moment that you realised who you were looking at. Right then and there, in those few minutes, you had entirely sobered up. Chippy was right: you had been knocked off your game. Without noticing, you started falling for his charming side, almost forgetting about what he was. You had begun to feel for him as if he was, well, normal. To your disgust, you had started to fall for him…

Well, that was over. 


End file.
